Give Me Numbers

To Hope,

To Have Hope,

To Live in Hope --

is to form and hold a very particular personal opinion, 

Freely & Consciously held

Intellectually, Philosophically,

Historically and Genealogically, 

with respect to your relationships with/to 

Your Family, and to/with World History --

"Fear. 

Fear attracts The Fearful.

The Strong. 

The Weak.

The Innocent.

The  Corrupt. 

Fear. Fear is My Ally."

— Darth Maul

What if Dreams came True, and you could Be Who You Wanted to Be, and you could Do What You Wanted to Do, and you could Help Who You Wanted to Help. 

What if Dreams came True? And The World opened up, and YOU were never ever afraid. 

What if Dreams came True? 

But Dreams DO come True. 

Don't They?

INT. THE BARTLET RESIDENCE, 1960s - NIGHT Young Jed is knocking on his father's office door - once, twice, three times.

DR. BARTLET [VO] 

Come in.

Dr. Bartlet is sitting in an armchair reading a newspaper, as Jed enters and approaches the other chair.

DR. BARTLET 

[reading] 

"If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you will never learn." 

Is this your quote?

JED 

Dad, uh, I wanted to mention something to you that maybe you weren't aware of regarding salary acquisitions...

DR. BARTLET 

Is this your quote? 

"If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you will never learn."

JED 

It's actually Ray Bradbury.

DR. BARTLET 

And you quoted Ray Bradbury?

JED 

Yes.

DR. BARTLET 

In an article you and your friends wrote, condemning Professor Loomis.

JED 

[sits] 

For banning certain books from The Library, yes.

DR. BARTLET 

He is a Professor of Literature!

JED 

He banned Henry Miller! 

He banned D.H. Lawrence.

DR. BARTLET 

Yes.

JED 

"Giovanni's Room" 'cause it's too homosexual!

DR. BARTLET 

Stop it right now. 

You're a guest at this school.

JED 

I'm a student at this school.

DR. BARTLET 

Jed!

JED 

He banned "Fahrenheit 451," which is about banning books!

DR. BARTLET 

Was that supposed to be funny?

He stands, Jed stands after him.

DR. BARTLET 

That word play you just did there, was that meant to be funny?

JED 

That was supposed to...

Dr. Bartlet slaps him across the face.

DR. BARTLET 

......Was there anything else?

JED 

[quietly, looking away] 

It's not a nondenominational service.

DR. BARTLET 

Don't start with this. 

[walks over to his desk]

JED

Catholics don't believe Man is Saved through Faith Alone. 

Catholics believe that Faith has to be Joined with Good Works.

DR. BARTLET 

You're the only one who seems to mind the service.

JED 

I'm the only one who's Catholic.

DR. BARTLET 

You're Catholic because your mother is, and you're at this school because I'm the headmaster. 

How's that for clever with words? 

[sits down] 

But what was it you came in here to talk to me about?

JED 

Nothing.

DR. BARTLET 

Please close the door behind you.

Jed shuts the door to His Father's Office.

CUT TO: INT. THE OVAL OFFICE - NIGHT 

President Bartlet closes the door behind C.J. in THE OVAL OFFICE. 

Thunder roars. Bartlet walks to lean on his desk, places hands among the many pictures on it. 

Suddenly, The Wind blows the veranda door wide open and rain pours in.

BARTLET 

Ah... Damn it! Mrs. Landingham!

He turns away, realizing she won't Come to His Call, and then The Door opens...

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

[walks in, small and resolute] 

I really wish you wouldn't shout, Mr. President.

BARTLET 

[beat, as he looks at her in disbelief] 

The Door keeps blowing open.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

Yes, but there's an intercom and you could use it to call me at my desk.

BARTLET 

I was...

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

You don't know how to use the intercom.

BARTLET 

It's not that I don't Know How to Use It, 

it's just that I haven't learned yet.

She looks at him and he smiles shyly, as if he's been caught lying.

BARTLET 

I have MS, and I didn't tell anybody.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

Yeah... 

So, you're having a little bit of a day!

BARTLET 

You're gonna make jokes?

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

God doesn't make cars crash, and you know that. 

Stop using me as an excuse.

BARTLET 

[motions her to sit and sits down] 

The Party's not going to want me to run.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

The Party'll come back. 

You'll get ‘em back.

BARTLET 

I've got A Secret for you, Mrs. Landingham —

I've never been the most popular guy in The Democratic Party.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

[sits opposite from him] 

I've got A Secret for you, Mr. President — 

Your Father was a prick who could never get over the fact that he wasn't as smart as his brothers. 

Are you in a Tough Spot? Yes. 

Do I feel sorry for you? I Do Not. 

Why? Because there are people way worse off than you.

BARTLET 

Give Me Numbers.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

I don't know Numbers. 

You give them to me.

BARTLET 

How about a child born this minute has one in five chance of being born into poverty?

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

How many Americans don't have health insurance?

BARTLET 

44 million.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

What's the number one cause of death for black men under 35?

BARTLET 

Homicide.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

How many Americans are behind bars?

BARTLET 

Three million.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

How many Americans are drug addicts?

BARTLET 

Five million.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

And one of five kids in poverty?

BARTLET 

That's 13 million American children.

President Bartlet is talking, and the opposite chair is empty.

BARTLET 

3.5 million kids go to schools that are literally falling apart. 

We need 127 billion in school construction, and we need it today!

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

To say nothing of 53 people trapped in an embassy.

BARTLET 

Yes.

MRS. LANDINGHAM 

You know, if you don't want to run again, I respect that. 

[stands up]

But if you don't run 'cause you think it's gonna be too hard or you think you're gonna lose - well, God, Jed, I don't even want to know you.

Mrs. Landingham walks out and gently closes the Oval Office door behind her. President Bartlet stands, walks into the open door onto the veranda and lets the rain wash over his face.

CHARLIE [VO] Mr President!

Charlie appears with a coat that he's holding unwrapped.

CHARLIE Mr. President, it's time.

Bartlet avoids the coat and walks into another door. Charlie follows him. At his desk, he leaves the coat and takes off his own as well.

The song 'Brothers in Arms' by Dire Straits plays softly.

 These mist covered mountains Are a home now for me, But my home is the lowlands And always will be. Some day you'll return to Your valleys and your farms And you'll no longer burn To be brothers in arms...

Leo joins the President walking. Josh, Sam and Toby follow.

CUT TO: INT. THE STATE DEPARTMENT - NIGHT C.J. is on the podium in front of a filled room.

C.J. And he'll be speaking to that just as soon as he gets here. [Reporters clamoring.] Uh, Frank, then Leslie.

CUT TO: INT. LIMOUSINE - NIGHT The President is in the limo.

 Through these fields of destruction, Baptisms of fire, I've witnessed your suffering As the battles raged higher. And though they did hurt me so bad In the fear and alarm, You did not desert me, My brothers in arms...

CUT TO: INT. THE STATE DEPARTMENT - CONTINUOUS

FRANK Has there been any discussion of a Special Prosecutor?

C.J. Tomorrow morning, the President will direct the Attorney General appoint a Special Prosecutor, yes. [Reporters clamor.] I can't see. Joan!

CUT TO: INT. LIMOUSINE - CONTINUOUS The limo is driving in the rain, guards all around it. Leo looks at Bartlet worriedly.

CUT TO: INT. THE STATE DEPARTMENT - CONTINUOUS

C.J. A list of three prosecutors is given to a three-judge panel. The prosecutors, as well as the judges, were all appointed by Republican presidents.

Reporters clamor, as Donna and Margaret, pale and dressed in coats, tear through the crowd and stand at a distance.

C.J. Please, I can only answer 14 or 15 questions at once. Hal!

CUT TO: INT. NATIONAL CATHEDRAL - CONTINUOUS A janitor is washing the floor and stumbles upon a cigarette. He lifts it and looks outside as sirens announce the President's passing. Limos and lights are seen through open doors of the Cathedral.

 There's so many different worlds, So many different suns, And we have just one world But we live in different ones...

CUT TO: INT. THE STATE DEPARTMENT - CONTINUOUS

C.J. I can't comment on a witness list that doesn't exist, but I imagine subpoenas will be issued to most Senior White House Staff including myself.

Reporters clamor.

CUT TO: EXT. THE STATE DEPARTMENT - CONTINUOUS The President arrives in the rain, slowly walks in. Everyone follows him, no umbrellas are in sight.

 Now the sun's gone to hell And the moon's riding high, Let me bid you farewell - Every man has to die...

Bartlet is given a towel and he wipes his face with it, as he, followed by Charlie, Leo, Toby, Sam, Josh, and several Secret Service agents, heads for the conference room.

CUT TO: INT. THE PRESS CONFERENCE - CONTINUOUS

C.J. Again, I can't comment on what kind of hearings Congress has in mind. I'm sure there'll be one but you'd have to talk to Congress.

Carol gives her a slight nod as she spots the President approaching.

C.J. Okay, here now, the President of the United States.

Everyone stands in silence as Bartlet walks up to the podium. He passes C.J.

C.J. [quietly] First row on your right.

 But it's written in the starlight And every line on your palm We're fools to make war On our brothers in arms...

Bartlet looks over the room. He sees Lawrence Altman, waiting to be called. Instead, he points to the center of the room.

BARTLET Yes, Sandy.

C.J. watches in shock.

SANDY Mr. President, can you tell us right now if you'll be seeking a second term?

BARTLET I'm sorry, Sandy, there was a bit of noise there, could you repeat the question?

SANDY Can you tell us right now if you'll be seeking a second term?

Charlie, C.J., Josh and Sam, Donna and Margaret, Toby and Leo all watch. Leo turns to the monitor.

LEO Watch this...

They are all waiting, watching, as Bartlet slides his hands off the podium, puts them in his pockets, looks away and smiles.

Merry Christmas, JN-T — Wherever You Are

Just one truly glorious example of what truly batsh*t-crazy M*******r John-Nathan Turner could be when he REALLY put his mind to it — 

Today, it’s a very standard LAZY Television Convention to for the opening titles of any television show to be made up of a cobbled together montage of action scene footage from prior and occasionally future episodes yet-to-come — all of The Best Bits, explosions, car crashes, people punching people.... All of The Money Shots (No, not THAT kind of Money Shots.... Usually.)

But more or less the very FIRST TV Show that did this, back in the late 1970s was a VERY Glamorous US TV detective show called Hart to Hart, and about a married, millionaire jettsetting Husband and Wife amateur detective duo, who fly around The World, being glamours, playing tennis and fighting crime and solve mysteries, simply just for the sake of their own fun and recreation. Because they could AFFORD to, and because they were rich, glamours and beautiful, it never would have even occurred to anybody to try to tell them not to.

And suffice it to say, that John Nathan-Turner utterly and absolutely ADORED Hart to Hart.

And it was very much in the spirit of this absolute adoration and admiration for Hart to Hart that inspired John Nathan Turner to personally oversee, instigate and create THIS — a title sequence of a montage of action packed sense of International Glamour and Scene of action *especially filmed* to try to simulate the impression of life of international jet-setting and crime fighting, depicted by a montage of shots clipped from out of future TV series that didn’t EXIST yet..., And moreover, even, one that JN-T clearly would have fully recognised and good, full and well that it never even *would* exist — EVER.

All filmed in the English Cotswolds on a clearly freezing, grey and overcast day in late October.

Barmey. Deranged, Bonkers, and absolutely goddamned Barking MAD....

Well played, JN-T... Well played....

Really, what more else can one says about all of that.....? There is, I feel, just only one thing more to add —

*Merry Christmas.*

A Fairy Godfather

xx

 “Inside, Jim. Inside.

Too bad you didn’t Connect — you coulda gone to Juvenile Hall.... 

That’s What You Really WANT, isn’t it?”

•sad mumbling•

“Sure it is! You want to BUG us until we have to lock you up —WHY?”

“Just leave me alone...”

“No!”

Our Culture understands little about these matters, so when we ask The Other Person for Our Gold back, she probably won’t know what we’re talking about. 

She  might say, 

“Last week you were opening doors for me and treating me like A  Princess, 

and this week you’re ignoring me.” 

People don’t understand the dynamics. 

It is only after you get Your Gold back that you can see The Gold of The Other Person. 

When The Time is Right, when you are Ready to Bear The Weight, You Must Get  Your Gold Back. 

If you can do it with Dignity and Tact, that’s Best. 

But you MUST get  it back, one way or another.  

When you are struck, when Gold is being exchanged, sit quietly until The Smoke  clears and You See Where You Are.

If you can talk this out with The Person Holding  Your Gold — with all the Dignity and Intelligence you can muster — it’s a beautiful  way of affirming what is going on. It may be risky, but it is well worth the effort.  

One reason we hesitate to carry Our Own Gold is that it is Dangerously Close to God.  

Our Gold has Godlike characteristics, and it is difficult to bear The Weight of it.  

In Indian culture, there’s a time-honored custom that you have the right to go to  another person — a man, a woman, a stranger — and ask him or her to be The Incarnation of God for you. 

There are Strict Laws governing this. 

If the person agrees to  be The Incarnation of God for you, you must never pester him. 

You must never put  a heavy weight on him — it’s weighty enough as it is. 

And you must not engage in  any other kind of relationship with that person. 

You don’t become friends, and you  don’t Marry Him. 

The Person becomes a kind of Patron Saint for You.  

J. Krishnamurti was a wonderful man. 

Lots of people put Gold on him. 

One  afternoon, he and I went for a walk in Ojai, California, and a little old lady was  kneeling alongside the path. 

We just walked by. 

Later he told me, 

“She has put the  image of God on me. 

She knows what she’s doing. 

She never talks or asks anything of me. 

But when I go for a walk, she somehow knows where I’m going to be,  and she’s always there.” 

What was most touching was his attitude. 

If she needed  this, he would do it.

This is the original meaning of the terms Godfather and Godmother. 

That person  is The Carrier of Godlike qualities for you. 

Nowadays we think of a Godparent as the  one who will take care of us materially in case our parents are not able to see it  through. 

But the original meaning was of someone who carries the subtle part of  your life — a parent in an interior, Godlike way. It’s a wonderful custom. 

Most parents are worn out just seeing their child through to physical maturity.

We need  someone else who isn’t bothered with Authority Issues, like “How much is my allowance this week?” 

Being a Godparent was originally a quiet arrangement for holding a child’s Gold.  

When I was sixteen, two years after meeting Thor, I desperately needed someone like that. 

So I appointed a Godmother and Godfather, and those two people  saved My Life. 

They knew instinctively the duties of this need, and they fulfilled  them. 

My godmother died when I was twenty-two, and I wasn’t ready to give her  up. It was the most difficult loss of My Life. 

I was forced to take my Gold back before I was ready. My Godfather lived until I was in my fifties, and by then I was  ready to let him go.  

I love the idea of Godparents. 

Sometimes Young People come circling around  me, and I bring up This Language. “Do you want a Godfather?” 

If it fits, we work out  the necessary rules. “You may have this out of me, and you must not ask that.”  

These are the old Godparent laws. It’s a version of the incarnation of God in Indian  custom.    

Sometimes Gold is Dark    

I love India, but being there can be challenging, sometimes even dreadful. During  one visit, I nearly sank in The Darkness.  

An Indian friend and I went to Calcutta. He wanted to see his father, who lived  in a politically sensitive zone near The City, where foreigners were not allowed. 

So I  said, “Please go. I’ll stay in Calcutta while you visit him.” 

My Friend tried to help me  get a hotel, but there were no good ones, so I ended up in a sleazy hotel in a dark  part of town. 

Because he was so anxious to see His Father, once he got me settled, I  encouraged him to go.  

Within hours, a woman on the street thrust a dead baby into my hands, children  with amputated limbs poked their stumps into my ribs begging for money, and lepers and corpses were lying in the streets where I walked. 

It was too much for me,  and I didn’t know how to get away from it. 

Normally I could just go to my room  and hole up. As an introvert, that isn’t difficult for me. 

But my room in that hotel  had paper-thin walls, and someone was actually dying in the room on one side,  people were screaming and fighting in the room on the other side, and there was a  nightlong political rally in the square outside my window. 

I just couldn’t take it. 

I  had more in me than I could hold, and I started falling to pieces.  

Gold comes in many varieties. Sometimes our Gold is bright, but at other times  it is heavy and difficult, and seems anything but Golden. 

I had no friends and no  telephone, and couldn’t cope. 

Then I remembered the custom I’d witnessed with  Krishna-murti. 

I needed to ask someone to be the incarnation of God for me,  someone with whom I could share my burden.  

I went to a park nearby to look for a candidate. 

After standing still and observing  many people for about twenty minutes, I selected a middle-aged man who was  wearing traditional Indian garb. 

I felt a particular respect for him. He walked with  great Dignity. I continued to watch him closely.  

Finally, trembling, I went up to him and asked, “Sir, do you speak English?”  

“Yes.”  

“Will you be The Incarnation of God for me?” 

It was the second sentence I  spoke to that Man.  

And, God bless him, he said, “Yes.” 

I told him who I was and how frightened and burdened I was feeling, and that I  was unable to stand it. I poured out my misery, and he just listened without saying  a word. 

Finally I wound down and apologized for splashing all over him. 

I felt so  much better. 

I had my feet under me again.  

I thanked him, and then I asked, “And Who Are You?”  

He told me his name. I said, “Yes, and Who Are You?” 

He said, “I am a Roman  Catholic Preist.” 

There are very few Catholic Preists in India, and I had picked one  to be The Incarnation of God for me. 

He had listened, heard, and understood. Then  we bowed to each other and went our separate ways. 

Because he did that for me,  neither of us will ever be the same again. He did exactly what I needed with a Grace  and a Dignity that lives with me to this day.    

Making the Exchange Conscious    

I’m astonished by the enormity of the transfers of Gold that I watch every day. It  goes on everywhere. 

Often when I give a talk, for example, I single out someone  and speak to him, putting Gold in his lap. 

I do this to nourish myself. 

I used to  think, 

“What kind of adolescent impostor am I?” 

But one day I was lecturing with  Marie Louise von Franz, one of Dr. Jung’s foremost disciples, and she cheerfully  said, “The only way I can lecture is to find somebody I like and talk to him.” What a  relief Occasionally after doing this, I tell the person, but mostly, I don’t.  

Generally we don’t exchange Gold well, and much of our depression and loneliness revolves around misunderstanding this exchange. We run around in a state  of guilt. 

“I’m a failure.” 

“This isn’t working.”

“What are they going to think about me?”

But when you understand the Transmission of Gold, you can honor it and not feel  guilty. You know something indirect is taking place. 

You can sense it, but you can’t  possess it yet. Just try to remember that it’s your Gold that is being held by  whomever or whatever. 

Knowing this gives you a certain Dignity, which we all desperately need.  

DIGNITY

Our Culture understands little about these matters, so when we ask The Other Person for Our Gold back, she probably won’t know what we’re talking about. 

She  might say, “Last week you were opening doors for me and treating me like A  Princess, and this week you’re ignoring me.” 

People don’t understand the dynamics. 

It is only after you get Your Gold back that you can see The Gold of The Other Person. 

When The Time is Right, when you are Ready to Bear The Weight, You Must Get  Your Gold Back. 

If you can do it with Dignity and Tact, that’s Best. 

But you MUST get  it back, one way or another.  

When you are struck, when Gold is being exchanged, sit quietly until The Smoke  clears and You See Where You Are.

If you can talk this out with The Person Holding  Your Gold — with all the Dignity and Intelligence you can muster — it’s a beautiful  way of affirming what is going on. It may be risky, but it is well worth the effort.  

One reason we hesitate to carry Our Own Gold is that it is Dangerously Close to God.  

Our Gold has Godlike characteristics, and it is difficult to bear The Weight of it.  

In Indian culture, there’s a time-honored custom that you have the right to go to  another person — a man, a woman, a stranger — and ask him or her to be The Incarnation of God for you. 

There are Strict Laws governing this. 

If the person agrees to  be The Incarnation of God for you, you must never pester him. 

You must never put  a heavy weight on him — it’s weighty enough as it is. 

And you must not engage in  any other kind of relationship with that person. 

You don’t become friends, and you  don’t Marry Him. 

The Person becomes a kind of Patron Saint for You.  

J. Krishnamurti was a wonderful man. 

Lots of people put Gold on him. 

One  afternoon, he and I went for a walk in Ojai, California, and a little old lady was  kneeling alongside the path. 

We just walked by. 

Later he told me, 

“She has put the  image of God on me. 

She knows what she’s doing. 

She never talks or asks anything of me. 

But when I go for a walk, she somehow knows where I’m going to be,  and she’s always there.” 

What was most touching was his attitude. 

If she needed  this, he would do it.

This is the original meaning of the terms Godfather and Godmother. That person  is The Carrier of Godlike qualities for you. 

Nowadays we think of a Godparent as the  one who will take care of us materially in case our parents are not able to see it  through. 

But the original meaning was of someone who carries the subtle part of  your life — a parent in an interior, Godlike way. It’s a wonderful custom. 

Most parents are worn out just seeing their child through to physical maturity.

We need  someone else who isn’t bothered with Authority Issues, like “How much is my allowance this week?” 

Being a Godparent was originally a quiet arrangement for holding a child’s Gold.  

When I was sixteen, two years after meeting Thor, I desperately needed someone like that. 

So I appointed a Godmother and Godfather, and those two people  saved My Life. 

They knew instinctively the duties of this need, and they fulfilled  them. 

My godmother died when I was twenty-two, and I wasn’t ready to give her  up. It was the most difficult loss of My Life. 

I was forced to take my Gold back before I was ready. My Godfather lived until I was in my fifties, and by then I was  ready to let him go.  

I love the idea of Godparents. 

Sometimes Young People come circling around  me, and I bring up This Language. “Do you want a Godfather?” 

If it fits, we work out  the necessary rules. “You may have this out of me, and you must not ask that.”  

These are the old Godparent laws. It’s a version of the incarnation of God in Indian  custom.    

Sometimes Gold is Dark    

I love India, but being there can be challenging, sometimes even dreadful. During  one visit, I nearly sank in The Darkness.  

An Indian friend and I went to Calcutta. He wanted to see his father, who lived  in a politically sensitive zone near The City, where foreigners were not allowed. 

So I  said, “Please go. I’ll stay in Calcutta while you visit him.” 

My Friend tried to help me  get a hotel, but there were no good ones, so I ended up in a sleazy hotel in a dark  part of town. 

Because he was so anxious to see His Father, once he got me settled, I  encouraged him to go.  

Within hours, a woman on the street thrust a dead baby into my hands, children  with amputated limbs poked their stumps into my ribs begging for money, and lepers and corpses were lying in the streets where I walked. 

It was too much for me,  and I didn’t know how to get away from it. 

Normally I could just go to my room  and hole up. As an introvert, that isn’t difficult for me. 

But my room in that hotel  had paper-thin walls, and someone was actually dying in the room on one side,  people were screaming and fighting in the room on the other side, and there was a  nightlong political rally in the square outside my window. 

I just couldn’t take it. 

I  had more in me than I could hold, and I started falling to pieces.  

Gold comes in many varieties. Sometimes our Gold is bright, but at other times  it is heavy and difficult, and seems anything but Golden. 

I had no friends and no  telephone, and couldn’t cope. 

Then I remembered the custom I’d witnessed with  Krishna-murti. 

I needed to ask someone to be the incarnation of God for me,  someone with whom I could share my burden.  

I went to a park nearby to look for a candidate. 

After standing still and observing  many people for about twenty minutes, I selected a middle-aged man who was  wearing traditional Indian garb. 

I felt a particular respect for him. He walked with  great Dignity. I continued to watch him closely.  

Finally, trembling, I went up to him and asked, “Sir, do you speak English?”  

“Yes.”  

“Will you be The Incarnation of God for me?” 

It was the second sentence I  spoke to that Man.  

And, God bless him, he said, “Yes.” 

I told him who I was and how frightened and burdened I was feeling, and that I  was unable to stand it. I poured out my misery, and he just listened without saying  a word. 

Finally I wound down and apologized for splashing all over him. 

I felt so  much better. 

I had my feet under me again.  

I thanked him, and then I asked, “And Who Are You?”  

He told me his name. I said, “Yes, and Who Are You?” 

He said, “I am a Roman  Catholic Preist.” 

There are very few Catholic Preists in India, and I had picked one  to be The Incarnation of God for me. 

He had listened, heard, and understood. Then  we bowed to each other and went our separate ways. 

Because he did that for me,  neither of us will ever be the same again. He did exactly what I needed with a Grace  and a Dignity that lives with me to this day.    

Making the Exchange Conscious    

I’m astonished by the enormity of the transfers of Gold that I watch every day. It  goes on everywhere. 

Often when I give a talk, for example, I single out someone  and speak to him, putting Gold in his lap. 

I do this to nourish myself. 

I used to  think, 

“What kind of adolescent impostor am I?” 

But one day I was lecturing with  Marie Louise von Franz, one of Dr. Jung’s foremost disciples, and she cheerfully  said, “The only way I can lecture is to find somebody I like and talk to him.” What a  relief Occasionally after doing this, I tell the person, but mostly, I don’t.  

Generally we don’t exchange Gold well, and much of our depression and loneliness revolves around misunderstanding this exchange. We run around in a state  of guilt. 

“I’m a failure.” 

“This isn’t working.”

“What are they going to think about me?”

But when you understand the Transmission of Gold, you can honor it and not feel  guilty. You know something indirect is taking place. 

You can sense it, but you can’t  possess it yet. Just try to remember that it’s your Gold that is being held by  whomever or whatever. 

Knowing this gives you a certain Dignity, which we all desperately need.  

Perfect-10 (The Life so Nice, I Lived it Twice)

DOCTOR: 

Ha! Everyone gets stuck somewhere eventually, Clara. 

Everything ends.

CLARA: 

Except you.

DOCTOR: 

Have you been paying attention? 

I'm an old man now.

CLARA: 

But you don't die. You change. 

You pop right back up with a new face.

DOCTOR: 

No, not for ever. 

I can change twelve times. Thirteen versions of me. 

Thirteen silly Doctors.

CLARA: 

Okay, so you're number eleven, so

DOCTOR: 

Ha. Are we forgetting Captain Grumpy, eh? 

I didn't call myself the Doctor during the Time War, but it was still a regeneration.

CLARA: 

Okay, so you're number twelve.

DOCTOR: 

Well, Number Ten once regenerated and kept the same face. 

I had vanity issues at the time. 

Twelve regenerations, Clara. 

I can't ever do it again. 

This is where I end up. 

This face, this version of me. 

We saw this planet in the future, remember? 

All those graves, one of them mine.

The Stone

Follow me.

I'm sorry I frightened you.

Watchers have learned to fear Men.

“Then why are you helping us?”

The Creator formed us

on the second day.

The Day He made the heavens.

We watched over Adam and Eve.

Saw their frailty and their love.

And then we saw their fall.

And we pitied them.

We were not stone then, but light.

It was not our place to interfere.

Yet we chose to try and help mankind.

And when we disobeyed The Creator,

He punished us.

We were encrusted by your world.

Rock and mud shackled our fiery glow.

Still, we taught Mankind all we knew of Creation.

With our help, they rose from the dust, became great and mighty.

But then they turned our gifts to violence.

Only one Man protected us.

Your grandfather Methuselah.

We were hunted. Most of us killed.

Those who lived were left prisoners in these stony shells, marooned upon this barren land.

We begged The Creator to take us Home.

But He was always Silent.

And now you claim that you have heard His call.

Samyaza cannot accept this.

A Man?

When it is men who broke the world.

But I look at you and I see a glimmer of Adam again.

The Man I Knew.

The Man I came to Help.

The Dad God

“I leave you gentlemen now. And you will now write it. 

You will interpret it. That’s Your Right. 

But as I leave you, I want you to know: 

Just think how much you’re going to be missing. 

You Won’t Have Osiris to Kick Around Anymore. 

Because, gentlemen, this is My Last Press Conference.”

 

So, the next Aeon from Christ onward is The Aeon of Osiris, The Dying and Resurrected God. Osiris is also The Law Giver and He brings with Him The Written Word, so now ideas can be enshrined in books and books can outlast generations and they take on the aura of Gods Themselves.

God Himself is present in the works of the Bible. God Himself is present in the Quran. So certainly, there’s this programming code language, the instructional Dad Language, which can take people over just from reading a book and turn them into Agents of The Dad God’s Expansionist, Controlling Agenda. This is when Nature goes from Provider to something that exists to be tamed and exploited. That’s The Aeon of Osiris.

Following Osiris, comes this fiery breakdown, the child Horus is the son of Osiris and he’s every jihadi, every warrior, every rock star reformer, every young man who sees as his sacred mission the tearing down of structures, the questioning of rules. It’s punk rock, “I gotta tear it all down.” But running in tandem with that, according to Kenneth Grant, is the shadow Aeon of Ma’at, Horus’ sister and she’s the goddess of truth and balance and harmony and all that Wonder Woman stuff.

For me, having gone through the Abyss of Da’ath in the Thelema structure of initiation — having undergone that in a really experiential and exhausting way, I found myself in the Qabbalistic sphere of Binah, and The Entire World suddenly looked very different and made sense in different configurations which re-energized the work I’d been doing.  

 

  You remember at the height of The First Lockdown, all the churches were empty, all the sports stadiums were empty, all the mosques were empty, all the temples were empty. 

 

So, The Dad God had nowhere to go.

"I think that Star Wars is a Valid Mythological Perspective.

It shows The State as a Machine and asks:

"Is The Machine going to crush Humanity, or Serve Humanity?"

And Humanity comes not from The Machine, but from The Heart.

DARTH VADER:

Luke. Help me take This Mask off.

LUKE SKYWALKER:

But you’ll die.

 

Cordy: 

I feel a little guilty.

Angel: 

Don't. I mean, $19 for a sashimi couscous appetizer is money well spent. 

How was it anyway? Pretty good? 

I mean, it ought to be pretty...

Cordy: 

It's delicious but that's not what I feel guilty about.

Angel: 

Oh. 

(Sees Wesley looking at him) 

 

I 'm Not Cheap, I-I'm just Old. 

 

(Slipping into a slight Irish accent) 

I-I remember when a few bob got you a good meal, a bottle *and* a Tavern Wench...

...you were saying?

 

"As for Captain America himself,  Steve Rogers, a skinny non-com who volunteered for a military experiment designed to turn an ordinary man into a superwarrior. Like My Dad, or Jack Kirby, Steve just wanted a crack at Hitler. And, like many men in the populations of the Allied nations, he reckoned he could take the scrawny little paperhanger if only there weren’t thousands of miles of occupied territory, barbed wire, soldiers, tanks, and minefields between the sniveling Adolf and the proud fist of retribution.

     Unlike Superman or Batman, Captain America was a soldier with Permission to Kill. Until this point, the superheroes operated on the fringes of The Law, but Captain America’s violent work was endorsed by The Constitution itself! Turned down for the military, Steve applied for an experimental treatment of Super Soldier Serum and Vita-Rays. Before the formula could be mass-produced, its creator was murdered by Nazi agents, leaving a newly brawny and supercharged Steve Rogers as Uncle Sam’s one and only supersoldier.

     Each issue of Captain America was kinetic, brutally overwrought, and sensationalistic. Every cover featured a brand-new tableau of imminent superatrocity: A girl, her blouse ripped to ribbons, writhes on a medieval torture rack while a leering hunchback, preferably sporting swastika tattoos, threatens her cleavage with a glowing poker; Captain America launches himself through a wall on a motorcycle, destroying a portrait of Hitler on the way and simultaneously repelling a hail of bullets with his Stars and Stripes shield, while his faithful teen partner, Bucky, mows down Ratzis with the feral glee of a William S. Burroughs wild boy. There would invariably be some combination of boiling oil, rabid gorillas, vampires, or fiendish snake-fanged Japanese involved. Every square inch of illustration contained a frozen moment of grotesque threat or swashbuckling derring-do.

     Kirby relied on his remarkable drawing skills to provide a living for his family and was serious about selling his books in an overcrowded market. Where Superman had flown the Axis leaders to an international court of law, Captain America took the fantasy to its far more satisfying next level. Kirby knew that wish-fulfillment pictures of American superheroes punching out Hitler’s teeth would sell magazines in a fearful world, and his instincts were right. In Captain America, Simon and Kirby gave America’s troops, in the field or at home, a hero they could call their own."

 

 

Crowley said that the general tenor of the last six thousand years of human civilization could be summed up by the personalities of a family of Egyptian gods. And the first two thousand years up to the birth of Christ, this was the Age of Isis, the Mother Goddess, where people were hunter/gatherers or early agrarians living off the land, relying on ‘Mother Earth’, the seasons and the tides. 

So, the next Aeon from Christ onward is the Aeon of Osiris, The Dying and Resurrected God. Osiris is also The Law Giver and He brings with Him The Written Word, so now Ideas can be enshrined in Books and Books can outlast Generations and they take on The Aura of Gods Themselves.

God Himself is present in the works of The Bible. God Himself is present in The Quran. So certainly, there’s this programming code language, the instructional Dad language, which can take people over just from reading a book and turn them into agents of The Dad God’s Expansionist, Controlling Agenda. This is when Nature goes from Provider to something that exists to be Tamed and Exploited. That’s The Aeon of Osiris.

Following Osiris, comes this fiery breakdown, the child Horus is the son of Osiris and he’s every jihadi, every warrior, every rock star reformer, every young man who sees as his sacred mission the tearing down of structures, the questioning of rules. It’s punk rock, “I gotta tear it all down.” But running in tandem with that, according to Kenneth Grant, is the shadow Aeon of Ma’at, Horus’ sister and she’s the goddess of truth and balance and harmony and all that Wonder Woman stuff.

For me, having gone through the Abyss of Daath in the Thelema structure of initiation — having undergone that in a really experiential and exhausting way, I found myself in the Qabbalistic sphere of Binah, and the entire world suddenly looked very different and made sense in different configurations which re-energized the work I’d been doing.  

So, I decided to accept that the Aeon of Ma’at was coming down fast and I tried to align all my thinking with that, which provided me with a new bunch of metaphors and ways of framing the world. Imagine all this division and deconstruction was just a corridor we’re passing through. All the fractioning and separation —that’s typical of Horus. We can see the hand of Horus in the modern-day tearing down of monuments and statues. He’s kicking the fuck out of formerly stable systems all around the world. That’s exactly what you would expect of this spirit that Crowley said manifested first in 1913. But for me, I think he made his presence felt quite clearly on 9/11.

You can easily organize the evidence to suggest that there is an Aeon of Horus occurring now. Where systems are being taken down, where everything’s being questioned and audited, and the past is subject to major revision. So, there’s also some fun to be had in thinking “Ok, if this is actually playing out in some symbolic fashion, then what might The Aeon of Ma’at look like, artistically?’

And to me it looks like the rise of marginalized voices, it looks like more women coming into the discourse. It looks like trans people coming into the discourse. It looks like all the opportunities for groups who were disempowered by The Patriarchy, who couldn’t speak before to have their say.

Ma’at – what would her signature disease be? Well it might be a distributed network, a viral malady that could attack all of humanity. What would happen if she emptied the houses of the old gods as a show of possibility? You remember at the height of the first lockdown, all the churches were empty, all the sports stadiums were empty, all the mosques were empty, all the temples were empty. 

 

So, The Dad God had nowhere to go.

 

 

  

It is a hot moment. Temperatures are rising, Artic ice caps are melting at an alarming rate, and people may be unconsciously registering all that, and doing a horrible job at it. Instead of dealing with one’s own sense of panic, constriction, and fear it looks like many people are just running hot.

GM: I feel like every word we say is now a potential indictment, you know. The last malignant thrashing of the passing Aeon of Osiris. 

The Echoes of The Inquisition, accusations of ‘WrongThink’, The Return of Original Sin, The Demonic GLEE taken in any stumble or falter from The Approved Path seems almost mediaeval. 

It’s terrifying. 

The potential for misunderstanding is almost infinite and its almost fated that we will struggle to abide by Rules That Grow ever more Authoritarian and Specific every day. 

Again, all that feels to me like the last ferocious attempts at asserting its fading Power by The Osiris Energy of The Last 2000 years, now gone Rotten and Unsustainable but trying HARDER to Keep Everything and Everybody under Increasingly Deranged levels of Control in every area of our lives.